Luna's One-Shots
by LunarMothim
Summary: Collection of one-shots reposted from my tumblr. Most are K but will be rated T just to be safe for the future. Includes many Danny Phantom tumblr headcanons!
1. Intro Headcanon Guide

Hello! This is "Luna" again. I've decided to repost the one-shots I had originally only put on Tumblr. These are ones I didn't think were worth putting on Fanfiction so I'm going to clump them all together. I'm not sure if they'll work within the continuity of Captive Audience and Greensleeves but if they do, you're welcome to pretend these are all "canon" in my Danny Phantom universe. Otherwise, enjoy these unrelated oneshots! I am not a writer, I am an artist, but I write stories if I feel like sharing them. You're more than welcome to PM me with constructive criticism but these are mostly for my own satisfaction. Despite this I hope you can enjoy my writing!

Now, those of you who aren't involved in the tumblr phandom probably won't know what's going on in some of these stories, so I've added a little guide for the headcanons I will be using in some of these one-shots.

* * *

**HEADCANONS USED:**

**Ghost Language** - Originally conceived after a picture of one of Danny's essays circulated through the tumblr phandom with nonsensical words and letters instead of English. While this can easily be attributed to the animators filling the page with random letters for simplicity's sake, the phandom decided that Danny and all other ghosts speak a common language that humans cannot perceive. Like his other ghostly abilities, Danny does not have control of it at first and cannot distinguish when he uses ghost language or English. This gives the Ghost Gabber and Fentonphones new purpose.

_Appears in: Afraid_

**Ghost Hunger** - This was based off a fanart of Danny eating little ghosts from a bowl. This headcanon states that while other ghosts can absorb free-floating ectoplasm in the ghost zone, Danny's physiology and life in the human world requires him to consume ectoplasm as a means of replenishing that which he looses from battle injuries. Others take it further to say that if he doesn't do it frequently enough his ghostly side overcomes his human and he eats whatever ghost is nearest out of pure desperation.

_Appears in: Snack Time_

**James Fenton** - Not necessarily a headcanon, but James Fenton is the son of Danny and Sam and is property of saisai-chan of tumblr (sry005 on deviantart). He is my favorite phanbaby, perhaps even more than my own.

_Appears in: Snack Time_


	2. Afraid

**Title:** Afraid

**Characters:** Danny, Mr. Lancer

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count:** 1,957

**Genre:** Angst

**Headcanons:** Ghost Language

* * *

The department was always coming up with stupid new-agey requirements. The latest in their beatnik endeavors was a psyche evaluation exam in the guise of a self-help assignment – to write out your worst fears in whatever form the student chose. The idea was to present the assignment as a way to get your fears out, embrace them, and learn from them, but the teachers were instructed to present any truly disturbing and potentially life-threatening responses to the guidance counselor. 'A lot of good that'll do since we're telling them not to put their names on them,' Lancer thought bitterly as he sat behind his desk, Elegance of the Hedgehog open before him.

It was the last period of the day and clearly no one in the room was invested in their work. They remained dutifully quiet but their hands lazily sloped the pencils and pens over their papers as if automatic.

Except for Danny Fenton.

Lancer had to sit up in his seat just to confirm that yes, the teen was really there for once. He checked the clock. Ten minutes to go, and Fenton had not yet made a single excuse to leave. What's more, his head was hung over his notebook, the edge of his pen bobbing furiously. Lancer picked up his book and watched him overtop it as discreetly as possible. A few moments of writing and the sound of him flipping the page over filled the otherwise noiseless room.

Students came up to his desk one by one, slapping their assignments down onto the desk and returning to their desks, no more enlightened or empowered than before the assignment. Lancer chuckled to himself. Oh-for-one to the board.

At last the bell rang. "Don't forget to read the next two chapters of The Scarlet Letter," he cautioned them as the students all launched up from their desks, breaking out into the customary chatter of after-school pleasantries. It was as routine as ever – the jocks leading the pack, the cheerleaders and socialites trailing, the average students behind them, and the more intellectual ones putting the last of their supplies in the satchels and rounding up the bunch.

Except for Fenton.

Normally Fenton and his two cohorts (though normally it was just Foley and Manson) slipped out between the average students and intellectuals, as symbolic as Lancer thought high school could ever be. The girl and geek were flanking Danny as he remained seated, hissing things under their breath at him.

"It's fine," Lancer barely heard Fenton muttered back to them as he pretended to read the same page over again. "It's anonymous, right?"

The three approached his desk and Lancer kept his gaze on his book. Manson placed her sheet on the top of the pile, Foley slipped his somewhere in the middle, and Fenton slid his in at the very bottom.

"Have a nice weekend, Mr. Lancer," Foley called back to him as the three departed. Lancer didn't respond, eyes glued to the last word of the page until their footsteps and scolding had faded to nothing. The silence thrummed in his ears and finally he placed the book down, not bothering to stuff his bookmark into it. He scooped the pile up in his hands and straightened them on the desk, laying down all but the top one, the one he knew to be Manson's.

In dark, deliberate cursive she had carved out a small paragraph. It was what he had expected of her – "I'm afraid I'm disappointing my parents by not being the daughter they want", "I'm afraid of what will happen to me after high school", the usual. But there at the bottom of the page, in much lighter density, was a little printed message, "I'm so very worried about him."

Lancer placed Manson's paper to the side and picked up the next one. The following six were more to his expectations. College was on every single paper. There were some worried about student loans, not being able to pick a major, whether they should go or stay home and work to help their parents. The eighth one had Dash written on the top-right with a thick angry mark through it that did not conceal the name at all. "I'm afraid I won't get to be quarterback in college" was all his said. Lancer put this one back in the pile he'd set up on the other side of Manson's.

He knew this one had to be Foley's by the penmanship, neat, thin, and straight as a pin. "I'm worried I'm not as funny as everyone thinks," he'd put down, causing Lancer to chuckle a little. That was a worry Lancer knew he could confirm. There was a bit about college but nothing too drastic. Lancer and Foley both knew he'd have no trouble getting into whatever college he wanted. Then, in slightly less neat writing, Foley had scrawled, "and I'm really worried he's working too hard. He doesn't think we can see it but we can. I'm afraid one of these days he's". It had ended there.

Lancer's hand began to shake as he leafed through the others. College. College. College. Popularity. College. One page after another broadcasted the deepest fears the average sixteen year old could muster up from their limited experience. He grabbed the stack in his left fist and tossed them down onto the pile he'd made to his left. At last only one paper remained, completely full of light, wavering cursive. Even if he hadn't seen Fenton put the paper at the bottom her would have known it was his, not only from the handwriting, but from the writing itself.

Right off the bat the nonsense letters began. Fenton had started doing this somewhat recently. At first it had been one or two words each assignment which Lancer chalked up to be just poor penmanship, and he could determine what Fenton meant by context clues. Slowly it began to aggravate until Lancer was receiving entire sentences in this jumbled up nonsense. He'd pointed it out to the boy but Danny never saw what Lancer meant, easily reading out the words in plain English and giving Lancer a doubtful look. He tried to get Danny tested for dyslexia but never heard back from about it. His friends began helping him and the assignments started to normalize, but then he started speaking the nonsense words.

Frankly, Lancer had no explanation. He stopped calling on Fenton (the few times he was actually in class and had done the assignment they were discussing) and it began to slip from his mind. Until now, that was.

He trudged through the mess of an introduction, picking out a few English words every now and again, mostly articles and a few adjectives. He was a little disappointed to see "college" in there, but he still had a whole page to go through.

It wasn't until the second paragraph that Lancer could make out anything of value. "Most of all I'm worried about doing the right thing. I try my best every day and I know-" more nonsense letters, "priorities kinda out of whack but I try my best to do everything expected of me but it's a lot. After-" nonsense, "and it gets hard to do this by myself. I mean, I have-" there was a T here but it was clumsily scratched out and replaced with "friends that are there for me but I hate to make them worry and that's all they can do is worry. It hurts me more than helps me. I'm afraid I might get really hurt one of these days. I'm afraid for my parents. I know they don't know-" nonsense, "end up like it could have. I know what will happen if I mess this up and that scares me. I'm afraid that no matter how hard I'm trying it won't be good enough and everything will end up the way it would've-"

Lancer rested the paper down for a moment and rubbed his scalp. What was Fenton on about here? He picked the paper up and skipped over the next crop of nonsense. It was now becoming more nonsense than English which was frustrating Lancer greatly. The words he could make out made it even worse. "Hurts" was followed a few scribbles later by "can't keep it up on my own," and later "taking two steps back," and "getting nowhere but I keep going and I don't know why. I'm not the hero, after all, even though I try-"

He flipped the paper over. "I'm scared of myself, to be honest. I'm scared of what I could become, of what could happen to me, of what people would think of me. I'm scared of being alone but I'm scared for anyone to know. I'm scared of no one understanding. I'm scared of hurting everyone or letting them get hurt."

Nonsense.

"I don't really know what else to do but keep going forward. I'm scared of that too because I don't know where I'm going. But I will keep going like I have been because it's the least-" nonsense, "and I want to do everything I can. I'm the only one who can do this and no matter what-"

Nonsense.

Then nothing.

Lancer went over it again and again, trying to make sense of it. What in the name of Ernest Hemingway was this about? Never before had Lancer wished more for Fenton to write in English than that moment. It sounded like he was in some kind of trouble, at the very least.

"I'm so very worried about him."

She had reason to worry. Fenton was a normal enough kid, even with all the tardies and missed assignments. He'd never thought anything bad was behind it, just that Fenton was staying out too late and not focusing on what he needed to. But then the haunted, meek look had begun appearing on his face as he accepted each poor grade or detention, a look that told him "I do care. I care but I can't do anything about it."

Whatever was behind this was either out of Fenton's control or something that was slowly spiraling out of it. He knew he would have to turn this paper in but he didn't want to because of the scribbles. Perhaps he would hold Fenton back in class tomorrow, approach him-

Suddenly there came an explosion from outside. Lancer jumped to his feet, his swivel chair nearly overturning. He stalked over to the window and saw a distant blur of motion and green flashes. It was a ghost, it had to be. Probably Phantom and whatever ghost-of-the-day was wreaking more havoc than him that day. Lancer knew how keen ghosts were to end up at the school so he took this opportunity to begin packing up. He'd take the papers home and think on it for the night-

There came a sudden cold gust of wind from the window. He turned back to it, certain he hadn't opened it that day. Sure enough, it was closed. The room went back to its normal temperature and Lancer returned his focus to the papers. Manson's was there, as well as Foley's. The large stack of everyone else's was there, too. Fenton's was missing. Lancer dropped to his knees despite his complaining joints, searching the area around his desk for the paper. He didn't have time for a thorough check around the class because Phantom was whizzing right by the window, the ghost close behind. Lancer swiped the papers off the desk and into his bag. He paused just long enough to inspect a strange mark on the desk he didn't think he'd seen there before.

Was it a scorch mark?


	3. Cuffs

**Title:** Cuffs

**Characters:** Danny, Valerie

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count:** 2,740

**Genre:** Suspense

* * *

Phantom's head lolled to his other shoulder. A few minutes later he tilted his head back a bit, the muscles around his eyes seeming to move. The poisonous green glow blinked out into the dim room as he began to open his eyes. He moved his arms a little and the chains that held them rattled. At this his eyes flew open and he lifted his head a little too quickly, his neck muscles seizing and causing him to groan in frustration. His head dropped back down and he peered up through his white bangs at Valerie.

"You?" he slurred. The sedative hadn't fully worn off yet but even still his green eyes were piercing in the darkness. She suppressed a shiver. Phantom rolled his head back and tested the chains on his hands. He found himself unable to phase through them and looked back at her with a languid smile. "Well. Handcuffed in a dark room with a pretty lady in spandex. It must be Saturday already."

"Can it, Phantom," she shot back, trying not to sigh. It'd been nearly a year since she'd had a conversation with him and quite a few months since she'd even seen him, and he hadn't changed one bit. But that was a lie – he'd definitely grown, something she didn't realize ghosts could do. She was surprised by how much taller he was as she brought him back to the containment room. He also looked more muscular but by her knowledge of ghosts, weak as it was, she doubted this was actually beneficial to him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked in a stronger tone than before, clenching and opening his fists.

She drummed her fingers against her folded arms. "I changed my mind."

"About?"

"Our deal. About Dani."

Phantom tugged at the plasma cuffs holding him to the wall. "Oh. Right. Taking me as your prisoner so I can tell you all about ghosts and whatnot."

"It's not ghosts I'm worried about as much anymore," Valerie told him flatly. "I'm more interested in ghosts that are also humans."

Phantom's cocky look faltered. "You… mean Danielle?"

Valerie observed his hesitation. He had been so eager to get her to believe him about Plasmius last year, so he had no reason to be nervous. She felt a little flutter of triumph in her chest. She had to be right.

"Not just her. Vlad too. I saw him turn into the Wisconsin Ghost when I went back for him."

"My word wasn't good enough?" he asked with little humor in his tone. She gave him a sarcastic smirk in return.

Valerie pulled a little gun from the drawer beside her. It was a more refined version of the weapon she'd used against Phantom the last time she'd trapped him there. Not that she planned on using it, and perhaps Phantom would call her bluff once everything was out in the open, but it didn't hurt to have him a little scared.

And he did indeed eye the gun warily. "Does Vlad know you know?" Phantom asked without looking at her.

"No." She dragged a wooden chair into the single spotlight above Phantom. The light illuminated him normally but his shadow was faint. It was unnatural. He really did have all the characteristics of a ghost. She flipped the chair backwards and sat down, her arms folded over the top so that he could see the gun. He wasn't quite as interested in it anymore, turning his horrible gaze on her; he was starting to question why she hadn't shocked him yet. "I'm not as stupid as you seem to think," she said, ignoring the little tug of a smile he gave her. "The last person I want on my tail is someone who's simultaneously the mayor of the town I live in and one of the most powerful ghosts I've come across."

"I'm able to fend him off, aren't I?" asked Phantom with a smarmy grin, trying his best to flex his arms while they were shackled above his head.

"Yes you are," Valerie agreed lightly. "But then, Vlad's not a full ghost, now is he?"

Again, the bravado faltered. "Uh, no. He's not, he's like Danielle – a human and a ghost. But you figured this out on your own if anyone asks."

"Riddle me this, Phantom, how can anything be both alive and dead?" Valerie proposed, leaning the chair a little bit forward and tapping the gun against her arm.

"I don't know," he shot back with a weak shrug. "I just kind of… I mean, I don't ask questions. Damnit Jim, I'm a superhero, not a scientist." The smile was back but it was forced.

"And if Danielle's both a ghost and a human and she's your cousin, what does that make you?"

His smile melted into an intense look that Valerie had not yet seen on the boy's face before – but he wasn't quite a boy anymore, she wondered again. He was certainly older now than he was that night a year ago. "Alright, cut the crap," Phantom hissed, his bizarrely echoing voice now holding a growling undertone that made her skin prickle. "I'm dizzy and handcuffed to a chain in a shack in the middle of nowhere. I'm tired and aching all over from getting wailed on by three separate ghosts today. I don't have time for your little games so just come out and say what you're accusing me of."

"You're not a ghost either," Valerie said simply, keeping her face as unreadable as possible. "You're a human too."

He smiled but his darkened expression made it look more horrifying than cocky. Valerie dry-swallowed but kept her lips straight and thin. "Congratulations," he rasped, curling up into a more defensive position. "May I ask why it took you a year to figure this out?"

"I didn't even think about it back then, to be honest," she admitted with a controlled smile. "I should've right then, on that night. Danielle was your cousin, and she was a ghost and a human. I didn't think it was some kind of family mutation-" at this Phantom chuckled under his breath, "so I overlooked it. I figured it wasn't too improbable that her cousin really had died and was flying around destroying Amity Park.

But it was Vlad that got me. He had no relation to Danielle that I knew of - after all, Vlad Masters is an only child with no wife or kids. If he had this same… ability, it had to be something more than a few alleles making both him and Danielle a ghost-human hybrid."

Valerie had been allowing her gaze to travel leisurely around the room. It was mostly in shadows but the harsh light reflected the metal frame against the wall, the one Phantom was chained to. Her eyes travelled down his arms and locked on his eyes. He looked troubled. "And you, Danny Phantom," she said slowly, and he flinched. "Where did you fit into all of this? You, Danielle, and Vlad, all in one area on one night, and two of you were part human. That I knew of." She tapped her chin pensively. "You knew about Vlad and Danielle."

"For the record I never said Vlad was a ghost," Phantom interrupted with another attempt at a smile. "I just said he was evil. But those two words are synonymous to you, aren't they?"

"Of course they are," she snapped back. "You spent all this time trying to tell me you're a ghost who isn't evil, and now I find out you're not really a ghost. Your defense is even weaker now than it ever has been."

Valerie watched his facial muscles work as he searched the floor. "I've been doing this for two years now," he said finally. "I've met lots of ghosts. Some of them – _most _of them – are pretty nasty, I'll give you that. But they have some good traits sometimes, and some of them…" he broke off with a laugh and said in a thick accent, "some of them just want ta be left alone there, don't cha know?"

The speech did nothing to improve her mood. "I kept hunting," she continued. "Without Vlad's technology. I had to learn how to fight without it, how to make my own tech." Worry crossed his features and she snorted. "I'm not some helpless damsel, Phantom. I took care of myself. But I spent the last year digging, trying to find a way to undo Vlad once and for all."

"It's not as easy as it looks, is it?" Phantom quipped.

"It never looked easy to begin with," Valerie replied shortly. "I hunted down ghosts on the off chance I could get answers outta them. A lot of them knew about Vlad, had even worked under him at a point. Then I came across one ghost that knew quite a bit."

"Skulker," Phantom muttered, and Valerie smiled.

"Why, yes," she replied. "You remember the time he had us cuffed together, I'm sure." Phantom only nodded slightly. "I came across him at one point and tried the bad-cop bit on him. At that point I was starting to suspect you because of your connection to Vlad and Danielle, but it wasn't until Skulker that I really…" She trailed off and looked disinterestedly to the side. "He told me that he hunted you because you were the weaker halfa. That's what you all call yourself, isn't it?"

"It's what the ghosts call us," Phantom replied, then clamped his jaw shut.

"He wouldn't tell me who you were. As a human, that is. He said he wouldn't let me spoil his hunt and he was able to hold on no matter what I put him through. He's very dedicated."

"Hunting is his obsession." Phantom rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. By now the sedative was out of his system for sure, but the plasma cuffs would hold him. They held all ghosts. "If you don't know about obsessions by now you're a pretty piss-poor ghost hunter, huh?"

"I know plenty about them," she replied coolly. "It's the theme ghosts follow. It's what drives them, what keeps them here. Unfinished business, I believe it's called commercially." She flipped the chair around so it faced him and sat down again, crossing her legs neatly and leaning over her lap to stare at him. She was much closer to him now, enough that she could reach out with the gun and touch his foot. As if he realized his too, he tucked his feet up closer to him.

"Tell me, do halfas have obsessions?" she asked. "Or are you not ghost enough?"

The green light in his eyes blazed briefly. "If we let an obsession take us over, we become nothing better than a ghost. At least I still have enough humanity in me not to turn out like Vlad."

"He's a halfa whose obsession took over his life, then?" Valerie asked. She hadn't thought about obsessions, especially since she didn't think much of them in general. Of course, she never cared much about the inner mechanisms of a ghost's mind. She was more shoot first, shoot again if they were still moving. "What's his, then, power?"

Phantom laughed and started to say something but cut himself off and huffed "Yeah" hastily. Valerie ignored it. He glared at her again. "Okay. What exactly is it that you want, a confession on tape?"

"You've already confessed," she said. "I just wanted more info on halfas but you don't seem to know much yourself. I guess it wouldn't hurt to find out who you really are as a… contingency plan."

"In case I let my obsession take over?" Phantom's voice was thin. Valerie nodded and Phantom looked distressed. "I am never going to let that happen!" he yelled suddenly, startling her. She nearly dropped the gun as she held it out in front of her instinctively. He looked at it with wild eyes for a moment before he deflated. "I thought you wouldn't harm a human," he said with a weak laugh. She wasn't sure if he was referring to the gun or her "contingency plan" so she put the gun down.

"I will hurt a ghost if it's threatening the lives of normal people." Phantom looked hurt at the comment but turned his head away from her so she couldn't read his expression. "I don't understand any of this, I'm just trying to sort it out. For my safety and the safety of everyone in Amity."

"It wouldn't just be Amity," he mumbled so quietly she almost didn't hear it, but he began to shake his head. "I told you, I'm not letting that happen. I'd never hurt anyone. I… I know what would happen if I let my humanity go." His gaze lingered on her face for longer than she liked and she broke eye contact with him. "I can't let it happen. I have to protect everyone."

"Is that your obsession?" she asked quietly, and Phantom didn't answer. "Playing hero sounds like indulging in your obsession, doesn't it?"

"What choice do I have? It's like you said, _normal people's_ lives are at stake." She looked over at him to see he was staring at the ground again. "Of all people…. I got these powers. I'm nobody. I'm just a loser who can barely handle the human world, and now all of a sudden I get these powers – these _extraordinary_ powers – and just get thrown into a world of ghosts trying to kill me. Or… finish the job, anyway. What was I supposed to do?"

Valerie was shocked he was spilling out his guts to her like this, especially since she had him chained up and imprisoned. "Who are you, Phantom?" she asked softly.

He smiled helplessly at her. "Valerie, I can't let you know. You just have to trust me."

"If you really do want to protect these people than you need someone who can shut you down if you get out of control," Valerie told him firmly, leaning in closer. He didn't shift away this time.

"If I got out of control, you wouldn't be enough," he replied hoarsely.

"Why not? I've been able to fend you off." She flexed her free arm in an imitation of him but even this light-hearted gesture did not improve his mood.

"You would die," he said. It didn't sound like a threat. "_Everyone would die_. Mom and dad and-" he cut himself off and closed his eyes, taking in a breath. "But it's not going to happen. I'm not going to lose control. I've done everything I possibly can to ensure that. That's my obsession – to prevent it from ever happening. Maybe it makes a catch-22 of sorts but it's worked so far. As I am, I'm no threat to anyone except the buildings I get thrown into, and if you trust me at all you'll believe me."

Everything in her screamed to grab the gun. She had no idea what he was blathering on about but the idea of her father being killed was almost enough for her to blast him to bits right there, human or not. "And if you trust me at all," she countered tersely, "you'll know I won't hurt you unless I have to."

"Val, no," he almost pleaded.

"I know about Danielle and Vlad and you know about me," she forced out, but something about the way he'd said her name felt off. "It's only fair."

And then, looking into those wide green eyes, she could suddenly see it. Yes, that was why it had sounded strange when he said her name, and it had nothing to do with the echo.

He sounded just like Danny. Danny Fenton.

Her mouth dropped open and she stood up, knocking the chair back and tripping over it. She had her hand on the gun when she righted herself, only to have the room brighten exponentially. She could see the rusty equipment of the room glow with ethereal white light before fading back into darkness. When she sat up the chain swayed in the spotlight, but Phantom was gone.

After all, the cuffs only reacted to ghosts. They could not hold a human.

If she could even still call Danny a human.


	4. Stitches

**Title:** Stitches

**Characters:** Sam, Danny

**Rating:** K+

**Genre:** Angst/Comfort, Romance

**Word Count:** 804

**Pairing:** Amethyst Ocean

**Triggers:** Needles, stitching

* * *

Whichever "Danny" Sam was sitting with, she didn't like it.

There was Danny Fenton, the awkward, hapless dork that barely scraped by in school and made jokes with Tucker and was late to every class. There was Danny Phantom, the care-free and skilled ghost hero that liked to crack bad puns and kept Amity Park safe from the more malignant spirits. There was her Danny, who liked to sit close to her and press his forehead to hers and run his hands through her hair and whisper corny things into her ear just to make her laugh.

This Danny was dead silent and worked meticulously on his stitching, his jaw set and his eyes dark.

Sam searched her brain for something,_ anything_, to say to break the tension, but she was coming up with nothing. Tucker would undoubtedly be able to make a joke somehow and maybe coming from him, Danny would laugh. She, however, could not find a joke to tell, perhaps because of the pinching of the needle in her arm. As the years had gone by Danny had stopped flinching when she or Tucker sutured a wound shut, as though he had grown used to it. Sam had never been the one under the needle until that night, and she didn't see how Danny could stand it.

"You could've gone to a doctor," this Danny said in a small voice. It was a strange voice to hear, coming from him – no matter what "Danny", he always sounded so sure of himself.

"Yeah, but you owe me for stitching you up so many times," Sam replied, trying to sound as confident as ever despite the pain. This earned her a little smile that remained on his face unconsciously. "Besides, you're as good as any doctor at stitching up cuts."

"Unfortunately." The smile faded completely and he lapsed back into silence.

Sam sighed, flinching as the needle passed through her shoulder again. "Alright, Danny, what's eating at you?"

He paused mid-stitch, his entire form seeming to turn to stone. He opened his mouth a little to reply, shut it, then continued stitching. "I can't help but feel this was my fault," he admitted at last, then tried to appease her with "I know! I know!" as she started to protest, but she wouldn't have it.

"It's not your fault!" she said firmly. "You were busy with the other _three _ghosts, there's nothing you could've done. Besides, it wasn't _too_ deep a cut."

"But it could've been," he insisted hoarsely. He had stopped stitching but Sam wasn't sure if he had finished. "It could've been worse. Sam, you could've died, you're always at risk-"

"Danny!" she scolded, scooting on her bed to face him head-on. "What's with the gloom-and-doom all of a sudden? We've been doing this for years now."

Danny bit the inside of his lip and stared down at the floor. "Yeah, I know," he replied, "but… you're always getting kidnapped, or in trouble with your parents, or hurt, and it's all because of me."

"And if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be half-ghost at all," she reminded him, lifting an eyebrow in his direction. "We can sit here and point fingers all night or we can finish closing up this wound."

"It's done," he said, snapping back to attention. "I just need to tie it off." And he did just that, but his shoulders were tensed in a way that meant he had more to say.

She took a steadying breath. "Danny, even if you weren't Phantom, there's always the chance we could all be hit by a car or fall off a building or-"

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?" he asked, but his tone was lighter. His mouth twitched up into a smile and he added, "Do we all fall off the building at once?"

Sam laughed. "My point is, anyone can die at any time, so there's no point planning our funerals while we're still alive because right now we _are_ still alive. And I don't know about Tucker," Sam broke off with a resigned shrug and Danny snorted, "but I'm pretty good at taking care of myself and I'm not gonna die on you anytime soon. You got that?"

He gave her a sarcastic grin but when he said "Promise?" his tone was strained and desperate.

Sam forced herself to smile back. "I promise," she replied quietly, pulling him into a hug.

His powerful arms held her for longer than she expected, but she didn't mind. The throbbing pain in her arm seemed very far away now because she knew she had her Danny back, if only for this moment.

"I can't find a way to seamlessly transition into a sewing pun," Danny muttered, and Sam laughed. Yep, she had her Danny back.


	5. Snack Time

**Title:** Snack Time

**Characters:** Danny, James

**Rating:** K

**Genre:** Family

**Word Count:** 776

**Headcanons:** Ghost Hunger, James Fenton

* * *

In the back of his head, since the first day James started Pre-K, Danny knew this day was bound to come. Danny had just arrived at his office, thirty minutes after dropping James off, when his cellphone rang. His heart dropped when he saw the name of the phone number.

Pre-K, he had labeled it in his cell.

"Hello?" Danny answered, his throat dry.

"Is this Mr. Fenton? James' father?" came the voice of Mrs. Swosinski, the elderly teacher that ran the Amity Park Montessori School.

"This is he," Danny replied, picking the jacket off of the back of his chair. He was going to have to drive down- or, no, perhaps fly…. "Is James alright?" It wasn't his son's safety he was concerned about, James would always be alright – but if he had suddenly used one of his powers in class, it would certainly be cause for this woman to call him sounding as distressed as she did.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Swosinski said slowly, almost puzzled. "James is alright, but… there was a ghost in the classroom just this morning, you see, and James…" Oh God no, Danny thought, hands shaking. Had James transformed or used his powers to fight the ghost? "He, well, he _ate_ it, Mr. Fenton."

The air left Danny's lungs in one silent burst. "He… ate it."

"Yes. Ate it. Just… plucked it right out of the air and stuffed it in his mouth!" Mrs. Swosinski sighed, a sound like rattling autumn leaves. "He doesn't seem to be sick, at least not at the moment, but we called your wife and she's on her way to pick him up now. Your parents are those ghost experts, if I'm not mistaken? I'm sure they can tell if this will harm him in any way..."

"Oh. Yes, of course," Danny said with a little relieved laugh. "We buy little gummy ghosts for him all the time, I'm guessing that's why he… uh, did what he did. I'm sure it'll be fine, my parents have handled far worse than this. Is he well enough to get on the phone?" But of course he was. With his genetic makeup, eating that ghost could only be beneficial.

Mrs. Swosinski made a small noise of affirmation and there came a rustling. He could hear her speaking in a sweet, maternal voice, and then James was on the phone. "Hi Daddy!" he chirped.

"Hey bud," Danny replied cheerily. "How you feelin'?"

"I'm fine!" Of course.

"Kiddo, I heard you ate a ghost today," Danny began, trying to keep his voice low in case his coworkers overheard. He had his own office, but still, he didn't want to risk it.

"Yeah, but it was just a little one," James reported. Danny could tell he was holding the phone right up to his mouth. "I know you said bigger ones would make my tummy hurt-"

"They will, but, James, you shouldn't eat any outside the house, and even then only when you need to. Remember?"

James was quiet for a moment. "Oh yeah," he mumbled. "I'm sorry. I was kinda hungry though." Danny couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, Mommy's here, I gotta go! Bye!" There came a sharp sound as James undoubtedly dropped the phone on the table. A few moments later Mrs. Swosinski was back.

"Your wife just left with him, she's taking him to see your parents," she informed him, repeating back the excuse he and Sam had planned for an occasion like this. James would be perfectly fine, but Mrs. Swosinski didn't need to know that. "I'm so sorry this happened, Mr. Fenton, I had no idea a ghost of all things would-"

"It's alright, I know these kinds of things happen," Danny interrupted as pleasantly as he could, rehanging his jacket on the back of his chair.

"I'm sure you would in your line of work," she replied with a smile in her tone. Danny froze for a moment before he realized she was referring to his position in the Guys in White.

"Oh, yes. Well, thank you for letting me know right away, Mrs. Swosinski. Do you want one of us to come over there and do a sweep for you?"

Mrs. Swosinski laughed nervously. "Oh, I'm sure that's not necessary considering the ghost is gone now."

Danny laughed with her, only because she was more right than she realized. "Alright. Thanks again."

"Goodbye, Mr. Fenton!" And then the line went dead.

Danny chuckled to himself and sat down at his desk once more. Perhaps he ought to bring more gummy ghosts home, he thought. It seemed that James was developing a taste for ectoplasm.


	6. Fault

**Title:** Fault

**Characters:** Vlad

**Rating:** K+

**Word Count:** 2,127

**Genre:** Angst

* * *

With some tired resignation, Vlad realized he was dying.

It wasn't like he had much to live for at that point, so what good did it do to dwell upon this fact? His only regret at that point was that he hadn't been able to see Maddie one more time.

But thinking of Maddie made him think of Jack and Vlad felt a little tongue of bitter fire ripple through his chest. No, he would not spend his last moments thinking about how Jack had caused this. How Jack had screwed up the experiment, the end result of years of their combined efforts. It would've been bad enough without this radiation currently killing him but that was just the icing on the cake, wasn't it? In one fell swoop Jack Fenton had ripped away everything from his life – his work, his Maddie… his life was already figuratively gone but now it was leaving for real, and Vlad had no qualms about it.

No, he was going to lie down and die and that would be it. No more of this self-pitying and hatred and struggle. He would die and that would be it. He was surprised there were no nurses or doctors running in as his heart was slowing more and more, but it was just as well. They would try to revive him if they came in and the last thing he wanted to do was live – not only was he tired of living, but staying in that hospital was putting a drain on his mother's expenses. They'd long since used up everything he had had saved up for college (ensuring that even if he survived this… this whatever kind of illness it was, that he would not get a diploma), and she was struggling to cover what their insurance could not. No, if any good would come from this at least he would no longer be a burden on her. If only she would see it as he did, but she was a wholly emotional creature and her only son's death would be more important to her than her own life.

Vlad hitched in another breath and found he could only manage one strangled gasp. It wasn't painful, at least, this death. Sure it wasn't particularly pleasant, but it could've been worse, he supposed.

Oh, but he could have avoided this altogether if he had just gone with his gut feeling upon meeting Jack Fenton.

He tried not to let his thoughts stray there but he couldn't help it – the rage it brought up sparked an angry fire in his chest where it was feeling more and more empty, a feeling he didn't like one bit. At first he'd thought himself insanely lucky to meet Jack Fenton and, by extension, Maddie Clark. Vlad allowed himself the brief, delicious moment to remember when he first laid eyes on her. Her hair was primped and fluffed high, a fiery halo of curls above a sweet, heart-shaped face. Her eyes were impossibly wide and inviting and her round cheeks dimpled when she smiled at him and said hello. Her dress was so tight around her hips, cutting off tantalizingly high on her thickly muscled thighs. To think such a woman was in his line of work, a line dominated predominately by crazy old men or frauds looking for easy grant money. But no, Vlad knew that paranormal studies were nothing to be taken lightly. There was sufficient evidence to prove it, and to find two others in his university that took it as seriously at him, why, surely that was more luck than Vlad could've ever foreseen in his life.

Of course, Vlad now thought grimly, that wasn't quite good luck, as he was low lying on his deathbed as a result. Yes, Jack was serious about his obsession, but he wasn't too far off from the other crackpots in the field who took their jobs as seriously as the rest of the world didn't. He was borderline fanatical, everything about ghosts and the paranormal and the other world.

To Jack's credit, the idea of punching into the other dimension was one Vlad would have never thought of. Granted, he'd heard whispers about it and seen some evidence of this veil between them and the other dimension, from which his area of study originated and leaked over from, but to think of actively breaking into this world instead of studying its superfluous members, that was truly an ambitious project, and Vlad was all about ambition.

Still, he'd had his reservations about Jack. The man was dedicated but at the same time, distracted. He was enthusiastic about everything and as a result, important things seemed to slip his mind, often causing meltdowns or overspills in their lab sessions. The university had run out of labs and patience with the three paranormal research by the first month and soon they were forced to conduct research in Vlad's garage.

Jack himself was more than Vlad cared to deal with, too. He enjoyed the quiet company of his chess club members and Maddie's (though enjoyed did not apply to her, he savored those quiet research moments they shared some nights after Jack had gone home), but Jack was far too boisterous, invading his personal space with bone-crushing hugs and pats on the back that knocked him over.

But he suffered through it for Maddie. Bless her heart she could not shake this man, and why she allowed him to stay around her he could not tell. However, it was a packaged deal, so Vlad tolerated Jack for her. It was all for her, the portal, his work – it was no longer about the credibility or the satisfaction, not for science or for the betterment of mankind. It was for the first woman who had smiled at him in such a way, who had laughed with him and gone over equations and theories with him late at night over cups of hot chocolate in his garage.

And then Jack had ruined it.

Jack had ruined everything.

Vlad (with no help from Jack) had convinced the head of the science department to allow them one last chance in the lab, and though he couldn't obtain a generator from them they'd scrounged up enough to purchase one of the necessary power. That proto-portal was perfect if Vlad had anything to say about it, but Jack's calculations – instead of going over them he had just forged right ahead, and then –

Another spasm of pain rolled through his chest and that fire died out, leaving behind that hollow feeling. Vlad struggled for another breath but when he tried to suck in air, none came.

It was all Jack's fault.

Her hair in the sunlight.

Gone. He'd never see her again.

It was all Jack's fault.

The way she'd looked up at him over the printouts, her luminous purple eyes sparkling and smiling.

He would never see them again and it was all Jack's fault.

It was all Jack's fault.

It was all Jack's fault.

It was Jack's fault that the machine hooked up to his heartbeat was now screaming out a single, mechanical note. Flatlined, that was the term, wasn't it? He was dead, and it was all J-

Wait.

Vlad sat up and looked around before he realized that he could actually sit up, as opposed to lying helplessly on his bed as he had been for the past few years. In fact, he felt stronger.

So why wasn't his heart beating?

The empty, hollow feeling was still present in his chest, as if his ribs encircled nothing but air. He took in a breath and it flowed easily, if not a little blandly, over his tongue. It was… cumbersome. Unnecessary. So he didn't take another breath and that felt just fine.

The world was no longer swimming so Vlad took a step off the bed. The rest of his body effortless tumbled over the edge and he hung there in the chilly air of the hospital.

Where were the nurses? he wondered again. The heart monitor monitoring a heart that had stopped beating was starting to get on his nerves. He turned to the screeching machine and reached out, as if it was an alarm clock he could simply put on snooze. His hand came in contact with the machine and he felt that flicker of anger rise in the hollow area of his chest, and the scream died instantly as the machine partially melted under his palm in a flash of pink.

Well. Vlad stumbled back but his feet still were not touching the ground and he instead fell over, this time finally making contact with the hospital floor. It all came to him in a sudden burst and he felt the fire fill his limbs with sensation, which were originally numb from disuse. His lungs were suddenly screaming so he opened his mouth and dragged in a large gulp of air. He felt so alive, the hollowness retreating in his chest.

He was dimly aware of someone helping him up – the world had begun to swim again so he shut his eyes and set his jaw against the onset of nausea.

The voice of the nurse sounded as if it came from underwater. Once he registered the bed beneath him he turned his head and saw her fiddling with the heart monitor.

"-not sure how it overheated but it gave us quite a scare," came the nurse's words as the ringing died down. "But that's okay. Let me just wheel it out of here for you. Hopefully we can get a replacement from a brand that's not quite so faulty, eh?" His throat felt too dry to speak so he remained silent, watching her with clear eyes as she banished the half-melted contraption to the corner. She was older but not too old that her hair was completely gray and her face wrinkled pleasantly as she smiled down at him. "Why, Mr. Masters, you're looking very well today! I may even call the doctor in for another evaluation."

When she left to do just that, Vlad brought a shaking hand to his face. The skin which had been raw and bumpy from the ectoradiation now felt smooth. It no longer pained him to move the muscles in his jaw and his eyes had full range of motion, though looking around too quick did cause his head to ache. He stumbled into the bathroom of his hospital room, fumbling for the light switch and gazing urgently into the mirror.

Yes, there were still a few patches of burns and bumps on his face, but his face look far better – far healthier – than it had in years. The fact that was even upright was a testament to his new health.

But what had caused this? The last thing he could remember was his body failing him, his heart stopping and his breath failing him. He had felt so far away from his body yet still so trapped. And so hollow…

A flashing light startled him so that he fell over, knocking his head against the back wall. He reached out and grabbed the shower curtain, the rings popping out as he leaned on it for balance. He caught himself before the curtain came completely undone, gripping the sink instead and hauling himself back up. He found this motion much easier now, his feet all but flying off the floor as he pulled himself upright. But yes, he was indeed suspended in the air again, as he vaguely remembered he had been before. His hair, bleached white by the radiation, was nearly black again, but his eyes were green and emitting their own light. His jaw dropped open and he placed a hand on the mirror in order to lean in for a better look… except his hand went through the mirror and he instead bumped his forehead against the glass. He reeled back, the fire again exploding in his chest as the light returned.

His hair was again white, his eyes blue. More importantly, he was no longer floating or phasing through objects.

"Mr. Masters?" came the matronly voice of the nurse from outside. She was knocking on the bathroom door. "The doctor would like to perform his evaluation, if you're up for it."

Vlad gripped the sink, staring into the eyes of his reflection. He was up and moving. He was stronger. Far stronger than he felt even before the accident, though such times were so far behind him, and so impotent. He looked down at the hand that had melted the heart monitor. Whatever was happening to him, Vlad decided, it scared him.

It was all Jack's fault.

Jack was going to pay.


	7. Bygones

**Title:** Bygones

**Characters:** Danny, Dash

**Rating:** K

**Word Count:** 1,214

**Genre:** Friendship

* * *

When Dash entered the locker room and heard noises, he'd expected to see another football player hurriedly getting ready for the practice that was about to start. Probably Colt Tagert, Dash thought to himself as he used the coach's keys to open the office. That kid was always at least ten minutes late and ended up spending most of practice doing laps around the field. The playbook was on the corner of the desk just where coach had said and Dash tucked it under his arm, turning to let himself out of the office. Just as he closed the door behind him, he caught sight of the other boy in the locker room with him, and it wasn't Tagert.

Ever since the news had gotten out that Fenton was Phantom, he hadn't tried to hide himself while changing out for gym. Therefore, the scars and bruises didn't shock Dash when he saw Danny sitting on the bench behind a row of lockers tying up a bandage on his right arm. Most of the injuries were old and faded, and, from the way the guys had been gossiping, would probably be gone within days, only to be replaced with new wounds like the angry red burns he was sporting, dotted with that sickly green liquid that made up his ghost form. What did affect him was the unnatural way Fenton's right arm was hanging at his side.

"Is your arm okay?" Dash finally found himself saying, but it was a stupid question to ask – clearly the shoulder was dislocated. Dash just couldn't think of anything better to say.

Danny flinched a bit. Dash figured he'd known someone was there, but he probably was the last person Fenton was expecting. "Not really," Danny replied. "But I'll manage."

"I mean…" Dash sputtered, shifting the playbook to his left arm, "it's dislocated, so, d'you need someone to help you pop it back?"

"You know how to fix a dislocated shoulder?" Danny asked warily, quirking a thick brow. He didn't react when Dash walked over, though.

"Well, yeah, Fenturd," Dash replied with a dry smile, which Danny returned at the nickname. "I'm a football player, I've seen my share of 'em. I should be the one who's surprised that you know how."

"I wouldn't mind some help, I guess," Fenton mumbled, offering the limp arm over to Dash. The second his fingers touched his skin the cold hit him almost like an electric shock. Sure, he'd known Danny wasn't quite… normal, but he hadn't expected him to be so _cold_. He crooked the arm into a right angle and pulled the forearm out into the starting position.

"Jeez, you really knocked this bad," Dash commented, gently pushing the forearm in towards Danny's chest. Dash had dislocated his shoulder once in freshman year, and the pain had been pretty bad when the coach was trying to pop it back, but Fenton didn't so much as flinch.

"Yeah, this is one of the worse ones," he commented. Even still he seemed completely relaxed, which was better for relocating it, but worrying in what it implied about Danny's pain threshold. It took about three rotations before the arm properly snapped back into place, and at this Danny did let out a sharp hiss. He pulled his arm out of Dash's grasp and gave it an experimental roll. It moved fine.

"Well, that's the first time it actually went back right the first time," Danny said in a bright tone, then sobered as he looked over to Dash. "Uh, thanks, Dash."

"You're lucky coach sent me in here to get the playbook," Dash said with a shrug, picking the book up and tucking it back under his arm. "The other guys on the team… they're kinda… well, they wouldn't've helped."

Danny shrugged on his t-shirt stiffly and looked forlornly at the row of lockers. "They're scared of me, aren't they?"

Dash hesitated and looked Danny over apprehensively. Over the years, no one had really been sure what was happening to Fenton. Sure there was the fact that he'd grown taller, and quite a bit taller, but that was normal for a teenager. What wasn't normal was how his eyes had sunken in and his skin had become so pale and cold. Dash had noticed the slight chill Danny seemed to give off in passing but feeling just how cold his actual body was was even more unnerving. Everyone knew something was up with Danny though the most popular theory had been drugs. When they'd found out he was some kind of half-dead freak… it seemed to justify the fears some people had secretly been harboring. "I figured it'd be easier, y'know?" Danny continued when Dash failed to reply. "Everyone knowing. I wouldn't have to make excuses to leave class, or why I was late coming home, or why I couldn't run the mile and stuff. I thought everyone would accept me and life would just go on." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I didn't… I never thought people would be afraid. You… you're not afraid of me, though?" Danny looked over at Dash, and the way he asked it seemed almost pleading. His eyes showed no desperation however. He just looked really, really tired. "I mean, you just helped me out right now when you said no one else would."

"Well, you've only been helping us for like, ever," Dash admitted, and Danny burst out laughing. He wasn't sure what was so funny about it, but he allowed Danny a few minutes to regain himself.

"N-no, I'm sorry, it's… you wouldn't get the joke, I guess," Danny excused himself, rubbing a tear from his eye.

"But you really could've killed me, if you wanted to, right?" His voice sounded strained to his own ears, and Danny almost recoiled in surprise. "Like, all the times I wailed on you. If you wanted to, you could've stopped me. I've seen what you can do, I'd probably be no match for ya, right?"

"I'd never kill anyone, Dash," Danny said through gritted teeth, then relaxed a bit and smiled. "That's not to say I didn't get back at you every now and again-"

"Well, I probably deserved it," Dash admitted, and Danny's smile seemed more genuine.

"But no. No, I'd never kill you."

"I know that, and that's why I'm not scared of you. You're the good guy. Really, I probably deserved a lot worse for how much shit I've been giving you."

"Goodness, Dash, is that an apology?"

"Don't push your luck, Fentonio," Dash replied, but he was smiling. So was Danny.

"You ought to get that playbook to the coach, though," Danny said, shouldering the bag Dash hadn't noticed was at his feet. A few large metallic objects clinked together inside.

"Yeah," he replied lamely, holding the book out in front of him as if he just remembered it was there. "Well, I guess I'll see you around, Fenton." It was weird, but he didn't feel scared of the strange boy as his friends did, or even look down on him as he had his first three years of high school.

He felt like maybe they had a chance of being friends.

"See ya, Dash," Danny replied, and he was gone.


	8. Cold

**Title: **Cold

**Characters:** Danny and Sam

**Rating:** T

**Genre:** Romance

**Word Count:** 474

**Pairing:** Amethyst Ocean

* * *

Sam had always loved the cold. Summer's heat felt thick and heavy and the last thing she needed in her life was more pressure bearing down on her. Winter was her time – the air was brisk and cool and open, and her breathe came light and easy. The cold snapped at her nose and fingers and her breath puffed out in fog and she felt so alive.

Despite loving the cold so much, it was a little hard to get used to how cold Danny was.

Sure, some people had cold hands, and while it was a little offsetting it wasn't anything too out of the ordinary. When she and Danny had started walking around holding hands (something they did very sparsely at first as Sam viewed the action as a way of broadcasting a relationship rather than a meaningful gesture between two people), his hand never warmed under hers, no matter how long she held it. At some points she even found her own hand getting colder. Still, she wouldn't pull away, for she knew how self-conscious Danny was about such things.

His face was just as cold when he came in close. His lips left a little chill on hers, like the wind on an autumn day. In the suffocating days of summer, when Tucker wasn't around to taunt her about it, she enjoyed sidling up to him and letting the coolness of his skin against hers combat the sweltering heat. Even on the hottest days his body remained as cold as ever, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him break into a sweat.

Perhaps the only time she could feel any change at all in his body temperature was the nights that came along, every now and again, when she and Danny were utterly alone (except for her parents in their room down the hall and they had to be quiet or else they'd get caught, but that was part of the thrill, wasn't it?). Under her feverishly warm fingers she could feel the cold that radiated from him, and though his breath came in ragged gasps and his cheeks were madly red, his body remained cold compared to hers. His fingers were cold as they trailed up her back, his tongue was cold as it slid against hers. Pressing her bare body against his caused a disorienting chill to run up her spine. The pervasive coldness was so unnatural, so strange, that she wasn't sure what to make of it the first time.

But every time she touched him or held his hand or felt the chill against her face, it was Danny, and that was all that she cared about. She would get used to the bizarre, numbing cold that his body produced, because inside was still Danny, the boy that she had always loved.


End file.
